Reflection
by Iceani
Summary: I haven't thought of one yet. Gimme a few chapters until I think of something to write here. Until then, Read it.


I. In the Beginning 

Sleep. 

He decided that if it were at all possible he would do his best to marry it. Maybe even collect on the insurance, but he would at least marry sleep. There was just one problem. Well, okay, there was more than just one problem. The most obvious being that one couldn't marry an intangible thing, and that he didn't know of any kind of sleep insurance out there. No, none of those mattered. His main problem was tightly interwoven with his lack of it. Getting to his bed, getting anywhere near it, was his problem. 

Terry McGinnis was determined that he would, one day, get reacquainted with his bed. But first he had to get there. He could even see it from the other side of his window. He crept inside, slid the glass pane back into place, and moved silently towards the revered object. And like all good things in his life, this was not meant to be. The shrill sound of his alarm clock cut through the air and invaded his ears. Terry headed for his door instead. 

He found his mother at the kitchen table drinking her coffee and listening to the latest news bytes. 

"Morning, Terry." 

"Mom." 

"Sleep well." 

"Do I ever?" 

He heard her sigh behind him. If only she knew. His mother had mentioned taking him to a specialist to see if they could figure out why her son wasn't sleeping at night. Terry smirked. There wasn't any medication for what kept him up, except for a well placed punch and a few batarangs. Not a thing any doctor, shrink, or counselor could do for that. His smirk faded. He really didn't want to go to school. The whole lack of sleep thing aside, he had stood Dana up yet again last night in lieu of pounding on a few   
Jokerz and the Tee's. Max had covered for him, but it was little more than a formality at this point. Things were so strained between the two of them . . . . It would just be better if it was over. 

"Terry." 

He jumped when his mother put her hand on his shoulder. 

"Yeah, mom?" 

"It's time for you to go. And don't worry, tomorrow is Saturday you can sleep in." 

"Thanks mom. Later." 

He heard his mother wish him a good day as the front door shut behind him. "Me too mom, me too." 

* * * * 

"So that's it. No big baddies last night? Just some Jokerz and a few Tee's?" 

"Yes, Max. I was a slow night. It's a good thing too; I don't think my ribs could have taken anything major." 

"Still hurting?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I did break three of them." 

"Funny man. Ha Ha. See what happens next time I try to be nice. Bye now." 

"Hey! Where are you goi-" 

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him interrupted his sentence. He turned around to come face to face with the top of some one's head. He looked down to discover that the head was attached to his girlfriend's body. He mentally cringed. He forced a smile on his face. 

"Hi Dane." 

She looked royally pissed. 

"Hi Terry." 

She sounded it too. 

"Listen, um, about last nig-" 

She held up her hand. "Let me guess. Mr. Wayne needed you." 

"Yeah." 

"All night?" 

". . . Well . . . he is old you know." 

"I know. I know. The warden summons and you obey." 

He slammed his locker door shut. "Damn it, Dana! I know you don't get it! But it's important to me!" 

"Some old man is more important than me!" 

"Yes!" 

Well, he didn't expect that to come out. But it was true. Batman was more important to him than some semblance of a personal life. Damn Freudian slips. 

"Fine!" 

She stalked away from him. Oddly enough, he felt better. Oh, he would still apologize later, but this was one less thing to worry about on a nightly basis. Terry looked at the clock. Five minutes until class starts. He hoisted his backpack on to his shoulder and walked to his first class. 

* * * * 

Marty's hands shook as he transferred the canister from one fume hood to the other. He had to be careful with this stuff. If the guys upstairs knew what he doing he'd end up in one of the city morgues. Not a pleasant thought in the least. He watched the amber liquid in the beaker settle from being moved. Just what was this stuff anyway? All he had been told was that he should, at all costs, not get it on him. 

He had been here for over an hour, just watching the stuff. He checked his watch. Another hour and he could put the stuff in a transport tube and he was out of here to get his creds. The stuff just sat there and let off a bubble here and there, he really didn't know what he was waiting for. He had added the stuff he was supposed to. Marty wiped the sweat off his forehead. When did it get so hot in here? He shouldn't have agreed to this damn job. Or he should have asked more questions about what he was doing and what the fuck this stuff was. Just a little while longer and he was out of here. Yeah just a few more minutes, right? He looked at his watch again. Only fifteen minutes had passed. 

"You gotta be kidding me." He mumbled and scratched the back of his neck. 

Jesus it was hot in here. Marty unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He looked at the beaker. It was whatever that stuff in there was. He scorched his neck again. 

There was something on him. There was something . . . crawling on him. He looked down and screamed. 

There were ants all over him. 

He batted at his arms and tried to scratch them off his neck. 

"Get off me! Get off me!" 

The two men on the opposite side of the room watched as Marty screamed at nothing. 

"Not too bad," Said the first through his respirator, "for its first run. It took a little too long, though." 

"Indeed. Soon it will be perfect." 

"So, little guinea pig has issues with the heat and things that crawl." 

On the other side of the room Marty screamed one last time and collapsed. 

"55 minutes." The first man said. 

"I'm sure our guys can get it down a bit. Don't you?" 

"Of course." 

They walked to the fume hood and poured some of the amber liquid into a tube and capped. The second man dropped a tablet into the remainder of the liquid. A few seconds later it was no longer amber but rather crystal clear. 

"There. Nothing like a beaker of peroxide to finish out a chemistry set." 

"It's a little cold in here." The second man told the first. 

"Well, you don't want to get the place too hot. Something might blow up." 

They laughed and walked around Marty's body and left. 

Marty wouldn't be found until the next morning by an intern who came in to get a head start on an experiment.   
  



End file.
